


Delicate

by frnkwy



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Achievement City, FAHC, Fake AH Crew, Gang AU, Gratuitous Violence, M/M, drug mention, underground fighting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:40:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23490298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frnkwy/pseuds/frnkwy
Summary: Achievement City is an unforgiving place, it chews people up and spits them out monsters, unrecognizable to themselves.Gavin Free is one of those people, just trying to get by— consumed by the responsibilities and horrors of the criminal underworld he has no choice but to be a part of. His choices could lead to a prosperous, comfortable future, or, more likely; a painful, slow death at the hands of people he once called friends.
Relationships: Gavin Free/Michael Jones
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Next in line from my ongoing series, "stories I started in like 2015 but never finished, now I can't stop thinking about them until I finish them"  
> I went back and edited some stuff, obviously. Had to entirely remove Ray as a main character bc it doesn't make much sense anymore lol. RIP.   
> Well, hope u enjoy. pls comment so I don't feel like I'm talking to myself.

The day was warm and the wind stunk like exhaust fumes and garbage as Gavin walked down the busy sidewalk, trying to keep his suit in position between the people bumping into him and the weather. He didn’t want to have it rip again, he had already sewn it back together three times and he didn’t have the money to buy a new one. His sewing wasn’t the best anyway, so it was ready to fall apart at any minute. He tried to distance himself from anything perilous on his way to work, like parking meters or an overhanging tree branch. He held nothing in his hands or on his person except for an old, beaten phone in his suit pocket, but that was for later.

He passed a middle-aged woman walking too slow in front of him and looped around to get to the door of his office building. A security camera behind the glass door beeped at him when he entered the cool lobby, as it did every day. He brushed himself off, checking any vulnerable areas on his clothes for tears, and when he found nothing, he greeted the secretary at the front desk. Her blonde hair sat pinned up on her head and she smiled at him when he approached, as was their routine. They exchanged greetings and comments about the day, he signed in, and he moved on to the elevator. He pressed the button with the number thirteen on it and waited. He hated elevators, but it was better than climbing thirteen flights of stairs. When the doors opened, he exhaled and straightened his tie. A large room filled with cubicles laid out in front of him and the sound of ambient chatter filled his ears. One man on his way to the fax machine gave a polite nod, and Gavin nodded back. He then made his way to his cubicle, in the far left corner of the room next to the large window. 

Outside, he could see tops of low-rise apartment buildings, streets crowded with mid-morning traffic, and other office buildings not unlike his own. His chair sighed when he sat down and he sighed, himself, at the stack of paperwork sitting in the tray next to his years-old computer that barely ran Windows seven. He booted up the computer, tapping the wooden desk with his chewed-up pencil. The men and women sitting in their own cubicles, typing or filling out paperwork or checking facebook were, Gavin knew, just as miserable sitting where they were as he was. They were impatient, tapping their feet or refreshing the page over and over again waiting for the clock to move just a little faster. He knew most of the people there were in the same predicament he was; working for a meager paycheck during the day and scouring every other paying source they could find for rent or food or cigarettes during the night.

He skimmed the first document of the pile on his desk, barely taking in the information, before letting his eyes wander back out the window. The same thing happened while he was in school, he couldn’t keep his eyes off the window or his own arm or anything else more interesting than math. Except this time, he knew his teacher wasn’t there to scold him so he let himself be distracted by the blurry skyline and the people moving like ants thirteen stories below him. 

Days passed, it seemed, before the clock finally struck five o’clock and it was appropriate for Gavin to leave. He organized the mess of papers on his desk, logged out of the computer, and patted himself down for his phone, making sure it was still in place. On the way out, he said his goodbyes to the people standing near the water cooler and then he stood in the elevator, leg jumping up and down while waiting for the doors to close. Thirteen floors. Twelve. Eleven. Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four. The bell dinged and Gavin contained his impatient sigh as another man around his age slipped in next to him, purposefully avoiding eye contact. Gavin ignored him and tapped his foot, hyper-aware of the phone in his pocket. He felt like it was singing his clothes but he knew it wasn’t. When they reached the lobby he rushed out, quickly waving at the woman at the desk before exiting the building. The sun moved very slowly towards the horizon, it would be a couple hours before the sun would set. He had enough time.

He entered the stream of people rushing down the sidewalk like a river, trying to focus on the environment around him rather than on the upcoming night. People jostled against him trying to get past, hurrying to their cars or their homes or their night jobs. Cars honked and the air still stunk like pollution and sweat and gasoline but that was normal for downtown Achievement City. The sky was darkening, lacking sunset colors still, but he would get there before sundown. The crowd turned around a corner and Gavin broke free to cross a crosswalk. There were still people, but he felt like he could breathe and not have some woman’s shoulder knocking his arm around every two seconds. The sidewalk was level and recently repaved, which he was thankful for; he used to trip over every damn rock and bottle that littered the walkway.

He kept his brisk pace until he reached his apartment building. It was a decent place, it had air conditioning installed and a cute landlord who paid for his busted light bulbs. It was rare to find a cheap apartment in the city, so he lucked out when he found the small one-bedroom in such an ideal location. He entered the warm, empty lobby and began his trek up the stairs to the fourth floor. The elevator had been broken for some time but nobody complained about it, and he didn’t particularly mind walking up the stairs, especially when he had so much energy. The green-and-red speckled hallway carpet led up to apartment 23-B at the end of the hall.

As soon as he closed the door behind him he yanked off his tie, quickly removed his jacket, and began the slow process of unbuttoning his dress shirt all in the middle of his kitchen. He didn’t have time to waste. At the fifth button, he heard the sound of his phone vibrating loudly against the linoleum floor and he dove for it, answering on the third ring. 

“Three twenty-six Harrison street.” The man on the other line spoke in a clear, deep voice and Gavin suddenly wished he called them instead, he could have sworn someone gave him the Boss’ office number. 

“Yes sir, I’ll be there.” He said readily, and the other man hung up. The number on the screen said _Blocked_.

Gavin stood up and finished undressing in his bedroom, keeping a watchful eye on the amount of light coming from between his blinds. Clothes were scattered around the room and he couldn’t remember if he had any more clean clothes. One of his two pairs of shorts had blood on them, and the other was nowhere to be found. He panicked for a moment before he spotted the black gym shorts draped over his couch, blending in with the navy cushions. He sighed in relief and changed more quickly than he thought he ever had, and ran out the door within seconds. 

It was still warm and smelled of garbage and cigarette smoke, now. The sun was below the city skyline but the vibrant red and orange light spread across the sky like liquid and caused the alleys to become darker and the shadows cast by street lamps and skyscrapers to elongate and consume the streets. He walked in the shadows, but kept a watchful eye on everyone who passed and every dark space where someone could emerge from. He couldn’t afford to be jumped, it would be a mild inconvenience in comparison to what the Boss would do to him if he was late.

He walked until he was convinced he went the wrong way. _I must have missed the turn, maybe I walked too far?_

His fears were assuaged when a faded green sign with a crooked pole read _Harrison St._ in small white lettering. The road itself was newly paved and it smelled very faintly of tar and metal, but the street looked like any of the others in the city. It ended in an intersection three blocks down and the buildings were tall, thin, and graffitied. 

One of the buildings had a black gate in front of the door and a green circle spray painted on the bricks to the left of it. The mark looked familiar so he approached the building, hoping to God or Whatever Else that it was the right one and he wouldn’t get shot. He was usually sent to the same three or so locations, this place was unfamiliar to him. He knocked on the large wooden door, quick and forceful, before falling back on the balls of his feet and waiting impatiently. His fist clenched and unclenched, he was very noticeably twitchy and he hoped whoever answered the door would understand why. 

A worrying amount of time passed and Gavin prepared himself to start looking for the right building again when the door opened to reveal a tall, burly man with a ginger beard and a surprisingly kind face. He wore some kind of hawaiian button-up shirt and Gavin knew he had the wrong building.

“Uh, sorry, I must have the wrong address.” He said quickly, and immediately backed up. The man squinted his eyes.

“Gavin Free.”

Gavin froze, hoping he wasn’t anyone he had fought before. 

“Yeah. That’s me.”

The man stared for another moment, then chuckled. “Didn’t think you’d be so puny.”

Gavin gaped, still unsure if it was the right building and if it wasn’t, he was wasting time. 

“Sorry mate, I have somewhere to be so if you don’t mind…” He looked around, “I need to find three twenty-six Harrison.”

“You’re in the right place. You work for Kovic, right?”

Gavin shifted from foot to foot. He didn’t have time for small talk, especially with someone who was presumably from a different crew, probably a buddy of whoever Gavin was to be fighting that night.

“Yeah, yeah.” He wanted to get going.

The man must have noticed Gavin growing impatient, because he backed up and moved to the side of the doorway.

“Downstairs.” He said simply, and Gavin noticed there was no living area at all in that place. It looked like some sort of business from the outside, too large for a house, but the room he walked into looked to be simply that — a room. There were no windows, but a door leading to the left, no doubt to the rest of the building, and a staircase to some sort of basement.

Gavin was no longer wary of the place, he heard the tell-tale signs of a fight below them. The floor nearly shook with the volume of the crowd’s cheers and chants, but it was very well-contained. He made his way to the stairwell but let the stranger descend first. When they reached the bottom of the surprisingly long flight of stairs, the man opened one last door and the noise hit Gavin like a brick wall.

The room was massive; bigger than any other underground fighting arena he had ever seen, complete with a raised platform upon which sat a proper ring. People were everywhere, and the mob jostled against each other with money in their closed fists. It was dark other than a spotlight on the ring itself, and a couple other light fixtures installed in the ceiling. Whoever had the place built must have been very powerful and very rich. Cigarette smoke clouded the air and Gavin welcomed it into his lungs, itching to get going. 

The man beside him pointed towards a door under a cement outcropping, on top of which sat more seats that held no one yet.

“Kovic is in there, good luck.”

He disappeared before Gavin could say anything else.

On his way over to the door, Gavin looked around for people he knew. Or, rather, people he fought before or anyone who could possibly try to stop him on his slow journey to his Boss’ quarters. There was a code of honor, almost, in those underground fighting arenas: what happens on the mat stays on the mat. Beyond any sexual innuendo, it meant that there were no harsh feelings that came from fighting and beating someone in a match. However, Gavin beat many people in his career and among those who lost were some very dangerous men and women — people he hoped to never encounter anywhere other than where it was encouraged to beat the shit out of them. Surrounded by a crowd, Gavin was strong. Alone, he was unsure. The mob was larger than he anticipated and he hoped he would live to fight in the match.

He arrived at the door without incident, despite his worries, and slipped inside the room. His ears rang in the sudden silence. Well, almost silence. The noise of the crowd was significantly muffled and the bright light made it seem like a different environment altogether. 

Sitting on the couch in the far left corner of the room was Adam Kovic. He was a man and a half, he was strong and had connections in all the right places. Gavin was lucky enough to have been picked up by him almost three years prior, when he lived on the streets. Luckier still, he ended up being Adam’s favorite fighter.

Adam smiled wide when Gavin approached him, standing up and exposing his teeth like a lion. 

“Almost thought you wouldn’t make it.” He said heartily, and clapped Gavin on the shoulder.

“Wouldn’t miss it.” He smiled back, genuinely excited. His pulse thrummed hard in his neck like a hummingbird.

“Good, good.” Adam said, and guided Gavin over to the couch. The look on his face worried him, like he was nervous. That did not bode well for Gavin.

“Uh, so who is the bloke I’m fighting?” He asked, sure that whatever Adam was thinking about pertained to the person on the other side. Adam didn’t particularly care about the injuries Gavin would sustain, as long as he won and brought in as much income as he possibly could. Gavin had no problem with it, he needed money desperately as well. But Adam was worried, which meant that he could lose money, which in turn meant Gavin would get the shit beat out of him.

Adam cleared his throat. “His name is Michael Jones, but that doesn’t matter. I need you to be on your A game, Gavin. You cannot lose, I bet a _lot_ of money on you tonight.”

Gavin swallowed, the first bout of nerves shooting through him like lightning. His fingertips sparked and he said, “Yes sir.”

“Try to downplay yourself, the crowd thinks you’ll be pummeled. Let them think that, he’ll get cocky. Understand?”

Gavin nodded, mute. Adam smiled again with too much teeth. 

“I’ll let you get ready, you’re out in twenty minutes.”

He left, leaving Gavin feeling cold and utterly unprepared for whoever he was up against, but that was nothing new.

Gavin was led out of his quarters exactly twenty minutes later by two men who also work for Adam. They stood on either side of him as they left the room and stepped into the swelled crowd. It grew since Gavin arrived. People were staring at him, jeering and applauding and screaming, as he was released by the men and pushed up onto the platform. He stepped under the ring and stood there. He remembered what Adam said and attempted to make himself seem smaller, or bashful under the gratuitous cheers. 

If he thought it was loud when he entered the ring, it was absolutely insane the way the crowd erupted when Michael Jones emerged from his quarters located on the other side of the room. Gavin’s ears legitimately began hurting from the shattering volume and enthusiasm of the mob of people surrounding him. 

Jones wore an emerald green robe, and flashed his teeth at the people screaming at him as he was led to the ring. The man standing beside him was the same man who let Gavin in, hawaiian shirt and all. He looked terribly out of place.

Jones swung himself up onto the platform, feet quick, and looked Gavin up and down. Gavin was used to it, it was customary to analyze your opponent; but Jones looked at him like he was his next meal.

The referee hopped up between them, his hair was slicked back with too much gel and it glimmered in the white light. He shouted the rules at them: no low blows, no biting, bare fists only, and whoever was down for over five seconds was out. There would be three rounds, each lasting five minutes. There was no time for fifteen rounds, no funny business. In illegal fights, time is of the essence.

Gavin felt wholly unprepared. He had a winning streak, and was known for taking down men and women over two times his size, but the way Adam revealed who he was fighting and the way the crowd was jeering at Gavin had him worried. Jones was hopping from foot to foot, shaking his hands and grinning. Not so much grinning, he was baring his teeth, almost. 

Gavin slipped out of his robe, as did Jones, and that was it. The lights were bright and one final surge of nervousness shot through Gavin’s body before disappearing, replaced by sheer dopamine and adrenaline. His skin shook around his tense muscles and a buzzing filled his head after the whistle penetrated the hoots and hollers of the people. The referee slipped off the mat and Gavin was left alone with the bear in front of him.

Jones began moving like clockwork, his bare feet confident as they slid side-by-side across the canvas mat. He circled, and Gavin followed suit. They appeared to be in a cat-like standoff, bristling and sizing each other up. The crowd was tense.

Gavin rushed, attempting to make himself seem impulsive so Jones would let his guard down further. It worked, Jones blocked him with an amused grin on his face. It was an ugly grin, he sneered as he shoved Gavin back into the ropes.

He rushed again and attempted to sidestep, but Jones caught up and instead of blocking him again, Gavin received a quick but powerful jab to his jaw that sent him reeling. He righted himself and decided that he would keep up the rookie act just as Adam said, despite the injuries he would receive. He could afford to lose one round, if it meant going in for the surprise attack later in the match.

Jones advanced, fists held in front of his face like a boxer, and dodged a flurry of uncalculated and unpracticed swipes Gavin threw at him. He ducked low and punched Gavin in the stomach, attempting to bring him down.

Gavin let the blow come, and fell to his knees. He could have stayed standing but he fell anyway. Jones was smiling every time he threw a punch, and that wicked smile stayed there when Gavin’s face was smashed into the ground and he was pinned. Five seconds of Gavin struggling pathetically later, the round was Jones’.

They were taken to their separate corners, Gavin was given a rag to mop up blood from his nose with. He could see people passing more money around, most likely in favor of Jones. Gavin looked up and saw Adam nodding, face serious, from his balcony seat. 

Jones was chatting with a man who looked eerily familiar. There was a space around him, like people were avoiding bumping into him. He wore a suit and a relaxed expression; he talked with ease.

When the referee came onto the mat again, he was sweating and his hair looked shinier than before.

Jones broke away from his conversation with the tattooed man and resumed his position in front of Gavin. He was confident, he regarded Gavin the way a man of power would a servant.

When the whistle blew, there was no hesitation or circling. Jones went straight in with a hard kick that Gavin dodged, and he himself landed a significant blow on the other man’s stomach that knocked the breath out of him. He was about to swing around for an uppercut, but he held back. _Not until the end of the round._

Instead, he let Jones recover and accepted an elbow to the teeth and a successful kick to his ribcage. The crowd was going insane, chanting and taunting Gavin. He swallowed his pride and returned to his feet.

“You’re a —” Jones commented before swinging at Gavin again. He ducked. “Resilient one, huh?”

Gavin didn’t reply. 

Two more minutes in the round. He couldn’t let himself get pinned or immobilized before he would attack legitimately, he had to keep the area open until he had at least forty-five seconds left. 

Jones was backing him into a corner, fists raised. Gavin ducked, and when Jones predicted where he was going and aimed down, Gavin deflected it with his forearm and rolled underneath him. When he popped back up in the open center, Jones was already on him again. A minute thirty.

Gavin landed a punch to his opponent's jaw, and in turn received three to his nose, ear, and stomach. He felt blood running down his face like a warm stream in summer, but ignored it. One minute.

He let Jones beat him down for fifteen seconds, he was on his knees and faking a surrender, letting himself get pummeled. Jones was getting careless, just as Adam said he would, and let his gaze wander to pander to the crowd. 

Gavin’s plan was set into motion when his grip loosened, and he was able to slip backwards and back onto his feet. Jones came after him nonchalantly, confident in his ability to pin Gavin down in the last forty seconds of the round. 

Gavin let him draw near and once he got within a reachable distance, his leg shot out and connected with Jones’s knee. It was a dirty move, but it didn’t technically count as a low blow.

He went down like a tree, but he didn’t give up. Fire burned hot in his eyes as he lunged forward on all fours, knocking Gavin to the ground. It was an uncalculated move, Jones was striking out of anger and urgency rather than thinking about technique. When they were both standing again, there were twenty five seconds left. 

It became a mad dash to pin each other now, Jones was attacking ferociously and erratically, which made it easier to outsmart him. Gavin stayed just within arm’s reach and evaded his wide swipes, agitating him more. The room was filled with noise and voices clambering on top of each other, growing higher and higher in pitch as the seconds counted down. 

Gavin let him lunge and pounce until ten seconds were left.

Gavin, instead of keeping his defensive stance, opened himself up. 

_Nine._

Jones charged like a bull, loud and fast and angry.

_Eight._

Gavin sent a foot into Jones’ stomach and when his head bent forward, a fist greeted the back of his skull.

_Seven._

Jones was on the ground, writhing, trying to right himself. The animalistic screeches of the crowd surrounded Gavin, it pushed him and he could taste the victory like a sour candy in his mouth.

_Six._

Jones stood up on tense legs and Gavin pushed him back with two more kicks in quick succession.

_Five._

An uppercut sent Jones sprawling, he must have worn himself out with the vicious, surprised attacks.

_Four._

Gavin’s knuckles were split and hurting but he climbed on top of Jones and punched again.

_Three._

Again.

_Two._

Again.

_One._

Jones was down.

The whistle was loud and beautiful in Gavin’s ears. Blood dripped from his nose onto Jones’ forehead.

He was pulled off by the startled referee, and only when Gavin was standing up did he hear the acclamation of the crowd.

He staggered back to his corner, and when he looked up at the balcony he saw Adam watching the ring intently, face carefully blank. 

Jones was hoisted up off the ground by the man in the Hawaiian shirt and deposited in the corner. His nose was bleeding profusely and Gavin smiled, knowing he caused it. 

Jones was able to recover, and they were facing each other again for the last round. Jones definitely looked more serious, his lip was busted and dried blood lived under his nose. One of his eyes was swollen and the skin around it was graying and darkening. Gavin most likely didn’t look much better, but he was thankful he had two working eyes even if everything surrounding them ached and bled.

It took the crowd a while longer to settle, people were losing their bets and placing more and it was chaos for three minutes while they stood there, staring each other down. They said nothing, neither of them gave away anything.

The whistle rang. Gavin decided to take initiative and swing off the get-go, and landed a solid punch on Jones’ cheekbone. He staggered and Gavin followed, rushing him with as many hits as he could get in. Jones caught up after a few and sent his knee into Gavin’s stomach.

They fought viciously for four minutes, not breaking even to breathe or spit out any accumulated blood. They wasted no time pandering to the crowd that round or even thinking too far ahead with their attacks. Gavin found himself in a corner multiple times, as did Jones.

A minute remained and Gavin was trying not to choke on blood as he was thrown over Jones’ shoulder and slammed into the floor. He flipped around and grabbed a hold of his opponent’s leg and pushed, sending his feet flying. He hit the ground face-first and Gavin took the opportunity to straddle him and hold him down.

_One, two, three, four—_

Jones pushed up off the ground, sending Gavin reeling. 

He careened into the ropes but steadied himself next to the pole in the corner. 

Leading Jones towards him, Gavin sent him quick kicks and kitten-paw punches and when he was close enough, administered a heavy kick to the stomach comboed with an uppercut that sent him sprawling on the floor.

Instead of immediately trying to pin him, which Gavin knew wouldn’t work, he rushed forward and positioned himself facing away from Jones. The people in the crowd were red-faced and open-mouthed like birds, screaming at Gavin or screaming at Michael to get the fuck up.

Gavin positioned his elbow and jumped without hesitation. He landed, elbow first, onto Jones’ body and his loud groan signalled Gavin’s victory. _One, two, three, four, five._

It was over. 

It felt like hours before strong arms lifted Gavin off of Jones and his arm was held up high. The crowd’s howling was not unwelcome, a rush of energy flooded his exhausted muscles and he smiled as wide as he could. He looked back at Jones, who was on his knees and staring up at the lights suspended over the ring. His face was bloated and he opened his mouth to show his bloodied teeth and spat out a large amount of rust-colored spit.

The men who led him there climbed up onto the mat and stood on either side of Gavin to lead him back to his quarters. He was dragged through the crowd and past people swearing at him or swearing at each other, and finally back into the quiet, empty room. They deposited him on the couch without a word and left.

A neatly folded towel sat on the polished table in front of him. He didn’t take it, instead he wiped a hand across his damp face and stared at the crimson stain that graced his skin.

A drop of blood fell from his nose onto the back of his hand, then, and he smiled as it ran down the side of his arm and dripped onto the floor.


	2. Two

It was a Sunday, rain was hitting Gavin’s windows at a slowly increasing tempo as the day went on. He didn’t go into work the day after his last fight because he could barely get out of bed without screaming. Adam sent a doctor from his payroll by Gavin’s request, and he was informed that he had a fractured shoulder blade, a cracked rib, and severe contusions all over his body. Contusions, Gavin found out later, just meant bruises. He was ordered to rest for several weeks and not perform any strenuous tasks, and Gavin feigned compliance. There was no way Adam would keep him out of a fight for such minor injuries, in his eyes anyway, and Gavin would have gone crazy just sitting around for that long. However, Gavin agreed and the old man believed him.

The  _ contusions _ on Gavin’s face were still purple and blue like a watercolor painting. He wished they would go away, he had work the next day and didn’t particularly want to go in looking so terrible. He had gone in with bruises, sure; but not ones that were so dark and obvious. He was lucky, he supposed, that he made it out with the injuries he did. One fight several years back left him with a fractured cheekbone, a broken leg, and damage done to his organs due to being thrown on the ground and stomped on for too long in a fight that was too unmatched. He would take a cracked rib over a broken leg any day.

So, as per the doctor’s orders, Gavin was having a calm, restful Sunday afternoon. Rain was tapping on the window, begging to get in. He was sprawled on the couch at an odd angle, unwilling to move and irritate his busted rib. So, he laid cold and uncomfortable on his ratty old couch and watched a television show about cars. Or auctions. Both? He didn’t know, it was one of three stations he got for free.

A quick knock on the door roused him from his state of vegetative consciousness, but he didn’t move until it came again more quietly. Groaning, he sat up and waited again. Another knock didn’t come but his interest was piqued. He didn’t know anyone who normally made house calls, and no friends who would just drop by uninvited or without him knowing. He hobbled over on stiff, tired legs and unlocked the door. The sounds of the chain rattling and chiming as he struggled with it was like a bell, or an alarm. He swung the door open but all that occupied the exposed hallway was a plain white envelope on the carpet. Confused, he picked it up and turned it over in his hands. It was light and the address was printed like a bill, but someone hand-delivered it. 

He retreated back into his apartment and set the envelope on the counter. He stared at it contemplatively for a moment, before opening it with bruised but steady fingers. 

Inside was a note, written on a spare piece of cardstock. The handwriting was scrawled and hurried, written in a slant as if it was an afterthought:

_ Addressed to Gavin Free _

_ You surprised me, I didn’t expect a skinny thing like you to take down my best fighter. Come to the same place tomorrow at midnight, we’ll have a chat. _

It was unsigned, but it sent an unpleasant shiver down his spine. It’s hard to decipher the author's mood from just writing, but Gavin couldn’t afford to take chances. In his line of work, he had the opportunity to be killed, tortured, beaten for information; and he had no proof of signature. Jones’ boss wanted to  _ have a chat _ with Gavin, an ambiguous and chilling proposition. 

Gavin slipped the note back into the thin envelope after re-reading it a few times and sat down in a plastic chair pushed against the wall. If he was attacked, he wouldn’t be able to fight as well as he normally would, and they probably knew that. He rested his head in his hands, ignored the protest from his shoulder, and sighed. 

_ What could he possibly want, anyway? _

Goosebumps began popping up across Gavin’s arms as he sat in a cold metal chair in a cold little room. He had been there before, only on occasion, but it didn’t make the wait any less terrible. His foot bounced up and down on the smooth tiles and light from the large, covered windows behind him created wide yellow squares that sectioned the floor. Air whistled as it travelled through the vent on the ceiling and the closed door grinned wickedly at him.

Six other chairs were placed in a circle around a cheap dinner table in the center, but those were the only furnishings in the room. The walls were a pale, faded beige and blank aside from the windows facing towards the rarely visited street. The house itself was just outside the city, serving as a safehouse for Adam’s direct crew. Gavin only knew where it was because he stayed there once when he was being tracked down by a losing opponent who just wouldn’t give up. 

He knew he was led to the planning room on purpose, but he couldn’t help but to feel as if he was intruding even if there was nothing laid out for him to see. He might have been on Adam's payroll, but he was not informed of any of their deals and was in no way involved in his close circle of comrades. He was let in by Sean, who he thankfully had the closest bond with. He wasn’t as intimidating as Bruce or Matt; his face was kind and he had a perpetual, confused smile playing on his lips.

“It’s a Sunday, what’s going on?” He asked as he let Gavin in, looking either way to make sure he wasn’t being followed.

“A note was sent to my apartment and I think Adam should see it.” Gavin replied, and pulled the ripped piece of paper from his wallet. Sean didn’t take it, he simply nodded and led Gavin to the planning room.

There he sat, impatient and nervous, in a steel chair that made his legs fall asleep.

The door opened and Gavin stood up painfully fast when he saw Adam standing there. He was dressed casually but Gavin could see the bulge of a gun on his belt.

“Gavin, how’s my favorite fighter?” He smiled and dragged a chair over. He sat down and motioned for Gavin to do the same. “Spoole said you have a note for me.”

“Well, it was for me but I thought you should see it.” Gavin said, and handed the piece of paper over. “It came to my apartment in a little envelope.” 

Adam took it and as he read it, the amiable smile slipped off his face. He gripped it tighter and when he finished, he reread it again.

A beat of tense silence followed, where Gavin bit the skin of his thumb anxiously.

“When did you get this?” He asked steadily, voice quiet. Gavin felt a shiver run up and down his spine.

“This morning. I came _ right _ here when I got it.”

Adam was silent again, staring at the paper.

“I wasn’t going to go.” Gavin added helplessly. 

Adam was deep in thought, thumbing the crinkled note absently. His jaw was clenched and his eyes were hard, he seemed to forget Gavin was in the room. 

_ “James!” _ He shouted suddenly, angrily, and Gavin suppressed the urge to flinch. He wasn’t jumpy in the slightest, but his boss had the unique ability to set him on edge. For good reason.

James’ head peeked into the room but he didn’t even notice Gavin. He gave Adam a quizzical look.

“Get Burns on the phone. That bastard Ramsey has some explaining to do.” Adam said.

“I’ll try, you know he’s been off the grid lately.”

“I don’t give a shit, just fucking find him.” Adam snapped, and James disappeared. He rubbed his eyes hard and Gavin stayed still. “He thinks he can take _ my _ men and get away with it.” he grumbled.

Gavin, confused, remained silent. Adam was volatile, he could tell, and asking him questions in the middle of a fit was a recipe for disaster. So, they sat quietly as Adam breathed evenly but forcibly and Gavin was at a loss of what to do.

“Are you still here?” Adam snapped, jerking his head towards Gavin suddenly. The aggressiveness in his voice shocked Gavin like an electric chair and he stood up, straight as if to salute. His injuries radiated pain but he kept a straight face, swallowing his surprised cough.

“Sorry, sir.”

Adam didn’t reply, but Gavin didn’t care. He left the room and retraced his steps to the door where Sean was standing. He looked perturbed but Gavin didn’t ask why. He assumed it had something to do with Adam’s outburst, for he was one of the people who had to deal with it.

“Bye, Sean.” Gavin said, and left before he received a reply. A car he didn’t call for was waiting, facing the street. Gavin’s alarm signals went off and he approached the driver’s seat carefully and knocked on the window. The tinted glass rolled down to reveal a pretty blonde woman who smiled wide when he raised his eyebrows.

“I’m Elyse, look at the door.”

Gavin kept her in his sight, but glanced at the glass door and saw Sean giving a distracted thumbs-up. She smiled again when he looked back at her.

“Just taking you home.” She said. Gavin walked around the car and slipped into the passenger seat, not bothering with the seatbelt. She rolled out of the smoothly paved driveway and onto the road and didn’t say a word.

The drive was a good hour and a half, and Gavin stared, barely seeing, out the window for more than half the time. The scenery blended like an oil painting as they sped down the highway, then became photorealistic again when traffic stopped the car. In that time, Elyse turned the radio on at a low volume and hummed, tapping her unpainted fingernails on the steering wheel.

When the world, moving rapidly outside the car window, became dizzying; Gavin resigned himself to looking at the dashboard. The name  _ Ramsey _ swam around in his head like a fish, bumping into his skull and reminding him that it was there every few seconds. The name was so familiar, he knew he had heard it in passing at least a handful of times.

“Hey.” Gavin began, unsure of how informed Elyse was on Adam’s affairs. “Do you know who Ramsey is?”

Elyse glanced at him quickly, incredulous, before returning her attention to the road.

“Surprised you don’t.” She said, switching lanes. “He’s the most powerful man in Achievement City, he’s all over the news.”

Gavin hadn’t watched the news in over three years. 

“Is he — uh, does Adam know him?”

Elyse scoffed. “You could say that. Ramsey’s been taking territory and men from him left and right for the past year, he hates the guy.”

Gavin, with new information, only hummed. 

A beep came from Elyse’s phone, anchored to the dashboard on a cheap plastic arm. She glanced at it and huffed.

“Fucking chauffeur, that’s all I am.” She grumbled, and jabbed the screen with her finger.

Gavin tapped his fingers on the door handle, sparing a glance outside every so often, again. They moved more slowly in the center of the city, between speed limits and traffic and crosswalks and tight fits; Gavin saw a man in a purple hoodie talk to another hooded person, then he disappeared into an alley.  _ Probably a drug deal. _

Elyse pulled into the fire lane outside his apartment building and unlocked the doors.

She nodded at him and plucked her phone from its plastic branch and began typing furiously. The car continued to sit there as he walked away from it, and even when he entered the building. 

As he stood in the elevator, he took his chunky, old, minute-pay phone from his pocket and flipped it over in his hand. Internet and cable were a luxury he couldn’t afford, and after time he didn’t bother with. Even at work, sitting in front of a computer all day, he realized he had nothing to check. He owned a phone because Adam shoved it at him one day and huffed, “Can’t fucking contact you, I’m sick of sending people to your apartment with notes like we’re spies or some shit.”

Gavin stood there for another minute before realizing he never pressed the button labeled four, and then soon after remembered the elevator was broken. The door opened up and he stepped back into the lobby. A woman was standing by the door, peering out the window. Her red hair was glossy in the light from the fixture above, and she kept ducking and moving around when cars obstructed her view. 

When the elevator door scraped open noisily, she whipped around and Gavin noted the large, boxy bag slung over her shoulder. She smiled, all white teeth and glasses, and moved towards him. He was still holding his phone.

“Gavin Free?” She asked, voice like a bell.

“That’s me.” He said dumbly.

Without another word, she opened the flap of her bag with a snap that resonated in Gavin’s ears, and extracted a long envelope, not unlike the one delivered to him that morning. It was labeled the same, too.

He looked at it for a long time before taking it.

“Did you deliver a note to me this morning?”

She shrugged. “I deliver a lot of things to a lot of people.”

Gavin nodded and the woman smiled again before closing her bag and leaving. Through the large door-side windows, Gavin watched her jaywalk across the street and slip into an alley.

He turned the envelope over in his hands, then looked around the warm, empty room. It smelled vaguely of cigarette smoke.

Gavin hid in the stairwell, away from the eyes of pedestrians. He ripped open the seal of the envelope and inside was another piece of cardstock, ripped on one side and bent on one corner. Whoever shoved it in there was in a hurry.

_ Addressed to Gavin Free _

_ A little bird told me you ran off to tell Kovic about our meeting, I get it. My offer still stands, but we will have to meet at the warehouse near the port. The one that manufactures cardboard boxes, it’s unmissable. Same time, and alone, preferably.  _

No signature, again. Gavin sighed, frustrated, and shoved the note deep into his pocket. He stood up and sucked in a breath when pain shot through his chest and his shoulder like arrows, criss-crossing at his throat.

He made it back to his apartment without much incident, other than almost slipping on the second-to-last step. When he was inside, he threw the empty envelope into the uncovered and stinking garbage can. 

_ Who saw me with Adam? _

The thought scared Gavin. If Adam found out that Gavin led Ramsey directly to their base of operations, he would be killed. Even worse, cast from the crew entirely. If anyone learned that he betrayed Adam Kovic, he would never get work. The illegal kind, anyway.

He  _ needed _ this.

The note felt like it was on fire in his pocket. He yanked it out and crumpled it up, furiously, and pitched it into the garbage can. It sat on top like a fat snowflake.

Why was Ramsey so insistent on talking to  _ him _ ? He was hardly involved in Adam’s criminal or even personal affairs, the only thing he did for Adam was bring in money. If he wanted information, he could have contacted Elyse or even Sean, but he doubted they would even  _ think _ about meeting him.

But Gavin, standing in the middle of his kitchen and staring at his garbage — did think about it.

Adam said Ramsey was trying to steal all his men, not kill them. If Gavin just refused to agree to whatever terms the man could offer, he would be safe. If Adam somehow caught him in the act, he could say he was spying. He would get a slap on the wrist but it was better than the alternative.

He bit the skin around the nail of his thumb nervously, still eyeing the trash. He decided it was weird to still be staring at the wastebasket and shifted his attention to the knife block next to his toaster. 

_ A weapon. _

If he brought something to defend himself with, he wouldn’t be a sitting duck if things went sour. He nearly tripped over a water bottle sitting on the ground in front of the couch on his way to the bedroom. Inside his bedside table drawer was a pistol, one he never used anymore and stopped carrying when he stopped going out at night to do things other than fight for Adam. It was still loaded but a film of dust covered it.

It felt natural to hold it, even there in his bedroom, and a sort of sick glee wormed its way into his head as he pointed it at the lamp. He didn’t shoot but the feeling was still there.

It was four o’clock, he had eight hours to make up his mind before he would have to meet Ramsey. 

He wandered back into the kitchen and set the gun on the counter. It looked ominous there, sitting next to a wooden bowl with an almost-spoiled banana inside, as if it was a common household object. 

“This is crazy.” He said, to no one. The walls were listening.

Eight hours later, Gavin was sitting in a taxi outside the warehouse Ramsey said to meet him at. It was a large, flat building surrounded by a chain-link fence with only one entrance at the other side of the premises. It was definitely unmissable, as the area wasn’t much more than a cheap neighborhood bordering Port Chutney. The roads were uneven and lined with fast food wrappers, cigarette cartons, and broken bottles.

“Fare is forty seventy-three.” The taxi driver said, voice as gravelly as the roads. The sweet smell of sweat and smoke filled the cab.

Gavin pulled two twenties and a one from his wallet, mourning the loss as soon as the man took the bills in his large, hairy hand. Gavin didn’t bother waiting for him to count out his twenty-seven cents and unfolded himself from the cramped back of the car. It rolled away slowly, more like a crawl, and Gavin waited until it turned a corner before hopping the fence. He knew the entrance would be keycard access only and didn’t want to walk that far if he didn’t have to. However, the movements required to scale the fence left him breathless and in pain, he knew moving around as much as he had been would delay the healing of his rib and shoulder but there was no way around it. 

He found a departure area near the back, lit by five crooked street lamps that looked as if they had been backed into more than once. Two large semi-trucks were parked in spaces near the fence. 

A yellow, reflective garage port was opened, just slightly, at the bottom leaving just enough room for Gavin to slip under if he laid flat on the ground. 

He made it into the building without incident, but regret lived under his skin when he saw only one overhead light on in the center of the warehouse. There was no light to guide him, and as slow and carefully as he walked, he still tripped over stray palettes on the ground and various pieces of equipment. The closer he got, the easier it was to recognize the stories-tall metal shelves quartering the warehouse. They were full of flat, collapsed cardboard boxes and large, evil-looking machines that glinted in the low light.

When the fluorescent light was flickering above him, he was standing in one of the isles created by the looming steel shelves painted blue, stacked high with absurd amounts of cardboard. It was soundless and the darkness just around him felt like it was closing in, and he felt stupid for even coming. It would be so easy for someone to come up behind him, reach around and slit his throat right there—

“Gavin Free?”

The voice came so suddenly and the surprise mixed with his paranoia helped his hand grab the gun from his belt and point it, effortlessly and steadily, at the man’s face.

He wore a suit, tie and all, despite the warm air. Gavin recognized him as the man who talked to Jones at the fight, the man he presumed to be Ramsey.

He didn’t lower his gun, but grew confused when Ramsey chuckled. Not the dark, egoic chuckle of a powerful gang leader, but one of genuine humor. Gavin felt offended, being laughed at with a gun in his hand as if he was a child with a toy.

Ramsey wiped at his eye and gestured to Gavin. “A bit jumpy, huh?”

Gavin didn’t know how to reply. He didn’t know whether to be scared or comforted by Ramsey’s demeanor.

“Why are we here?” Gavin asked. He didn’t lower his gun, he snuck glances around the area but couldn’t find any traces of backup or anyone, really.  _ That doesn’t mean they aren’t there _ .

“Because you told Adam where we would have met before.” Ramsey said, as if talking about the weather. There was no anger in his voice, and he stood with his hands resting in his pockets. “My turn. Why did you agree to meet me?”

Gavin’s grip on his gun slipped. His palms were beginning to sweat, but he flexed his fingers and returned them to the trigger. “Curiosity.” His lips felt numb and he licked them, tasting salty sweat and chapstick that he found on his bedside table. “Why are you trying to steal Adam’s men?”

Ramsey smiled, then, “Because I can.”

Gavin spared another glance through the bars of the shelves surrounding them but saw no eyes, no guns, no men. He waited for another question, pulled into this pattern of question, answer, question, answer. But Ramsey just stood there, traces of a smile still on his lips. He looked Gavin straight in the eyes, he was too far away for Gavin to see the color. They were bright, though. Bright enough that the light made them look white, as if there was nothing inside him at all.

Gavin posed the next question nervously, carefully. The way his voice rang through his own ears was enough to make him cringe. “Are we alone?”

“Yes.” Ramsey answered immediately. Gavin prided himself in being able to tell when someone was lying, and Ramsey was not lying. 

He hesitated, but Gavin eventually lowered the gun until it was no longer pointing at Ramsey’s forehead, but rather the smooth warehouse floor. 

They were several yards apart, but Gavin could hear the other man’s steady breathing and envied the calm he felt, while he himself had a beating heart that regretted ever coming to the dumb warehouse with every passing beat. He was not only putting himself in danger, but betraying the man who gave him a place in one of the most powerful gangs in Achievement City.

_ One of them. _

The leader of, apparently,  _ the _ most powerful gang in Achievement City was standing right in front of him. 

“So, Gavin.” Ramsey began, breaking the silence that weighed down on Gavin as if one of the palettes of cardboard was lowered onto his chest. “You took down my best fighter. Congratulations.” 

“Uh.” Gavin said, intelligently. “Thanks.”

Ramsey took a small step forward, keeping eye contact. Gavin didn’t move away, but his arms tensed.

“How long have you been working for Adam?”

“A few years.”

“How would he feel about you being here tonight?”

Gavin swallowed the guilt, again, and put on a hard face. He didn’t reply, but he knew that was answer enough for Ramsey.

The other man smiled, teeth and all, and even gave a small chuckle. “I thought so. Adam’s always been protective of his crew.”

“He’s not protective, he’s trying to keep what’s his.”

“Oh, so you’re his property now?” Ramsey asked . He quirked an eyebrow and took a slow few steps forward. Gavin’s grip on his gun tightened, his nerves were fraying.

Gavin stuttered, “Wh— no, that’s not what I’m saying.”

“Are you accusing me of  _ stealing? _ ” Ramsey said, taking another leisurely step forward. They were very close now — close enough that Gavin could smell some overly-complicated cologne, faint as it was, and see the bright, iridescent blue of Ramsey’s eyes. His stare was intense but there was a sort of teasing hint in his voice, as if he was toying with Gavin.

“I think you’re messing with the wrong crew.” Gavin growled. 

“Am I?” Ramsey asked, his lips trembling as if trying not to smile. The movement infuriated Gavin further, and no matter how much he tried to repress it, the anger bubbled up and his hands were shaking with the effort not to just punch or kick or shoot the guy.

“Yes.” He forced out, through closed teeth.

Ramsey  _ tsk _ ’ed, then crossed his arms. His gold suit buttons seemed to be engraved, with tiny, tiny details that Gavin’s eye couldn’t see even that close up. They glittered like stars against his clothed chest. He was dressed sharply, without a single visible wrinkle in his suit or his undershirt. His beard was growing in slightly around his ridiculous mustache, which offset the suit even more than his apparently casual demeanor.

“Let me make you a deal.” Ramsey said, startling Gavin from his inspection. 

Suspicious, Gavin felt his hand tighten around his gun once more.

Ramsey continued, unperturbed, “Five thousand per fight.”

Gavin almost choked on nothing. He didn’t think he’d ever had five thousand dollars at one time, ever. When he won a fight, about three days later fifteen hundred dollars in cash, give or take a few hundred, would be delivered to his apartment. Ramsey was offering five thousand, money that could go to actual food and rent and heat, commodities that tended to be barely afforded or gone without. 

Gavin’s mouth was dry as he replied, “I have a crew.”

“Six thousand.” Ramsey said, and air suddenly became too thick to breathe.

“I—”

“Ten thousand.”

It took all Gavin’s strength to shake his head, and he felt sick when Ramsey shrugged.

“Loyal, I’ll give you that.”

Gavin didn’t say anything when Ramsey pulled a piece of paper from his breast pocket, and held it out to him between two long, tattooed fingers. It was folded in half, unevenly, and Gavin took it with a steady hand.

“Contact me if you change your mind.”

Gavin unfolded it and on it was a phone number, printed in unfamiliar handwriting. When he looked up, Ramsey was walking away through the dark with confident, easy steps; he even swerved around machinery and shelves with ease, unseeing, until his shape faded away.

Gavin remained there for some time. He kicked himself for feeling guilty for wanting to call the number and betray his boss, his _ crew _ , so easily. 


	3. Three

Gavin woke up to a distinctly painful headache, one that dragged a groan from his lips as soon as his eyelids lifted. His stomach turned and he vomited on the ground next to his bed. His arms and legs were sore and the blanket was twisted around his ankles as if someone tied him there. The mattress under him was damp and smelled like sweat. 

The smell of vomit was slowly permeating throughout the room and Gavin gagged again before sitting up, dizziness taking over, and edged around the mess. His feet hit the clothes-covered ground and he swayed, trying not to throw up again, and took three slow, shaky steps forward until he could grasp the door frame. His living room was dirtier than he remembered and, to his surprise, the front door was wide open. He lurched forward and the ground slipped from under him. He fell face-first onto the ground and the jarring of his head hitting the ground caused another bout of nausea that resulted in yet another mouthful of bile to stain the already dirty carpet. 

He wiped a hand across his lips and groaned. His nose burned from the vomit and something else, it felt exceptionally runny and scabbed.

When he made it to his knees, he noticed that his small, boxy television had been stolen. In the kitchen, the microwave seemed to be gone as well, and all the cabinets were ajar and empty. 

Gavin made a strangled, annoyed noise and hoisted himself up with the help from the ratty couch arm. 

Muddy footprints were tracked throughout the apartment and dirt and blood were smeared on the walls. 

He patted down his waist and realized he wasn’t wearing pants or a shirt, only his boxers. Horror mixed with confusion and anger, creating a painful cocktail in his stomach that he couldn’t swallow. 

He turned and returned to his bedroom. His bedside table was wiped clean of his lamp, his wallet, and even his shitty phone. The money he had stashed in his drawer in an unlabelled tin was cleaned out. Six hundred dollars gone, just like that.

A terrible feeling of fury and dread and hopelessness gripped him then as he wracked his brain for any memory of the night before, but could only recall flashing lights and a crowd. His head spun again and he stumbled to the bathroom, but nothing passed his lips, even as he retched for several minutes.

He spent the next hour on the cool bathroom floor, aching and miserable, trying to remember anything or any reason he might have left his goddamn door open.

He hobbled over to the kitchen and, as he thought, virtually everything of any value had been taken. What was left was an odd assortment of plastic cups, empty cereal boxes and a puddle of something that wasn’t water on the ground. Gavin put his hand on the counter and squeezed with all he had, which wasn’t much at the moment, until the strain caused his shoulder to buckle.

His shoulder, as he tentatively moved it, hurt in a far more intense and different way, as if someone stepped on his previous injury and stomped a few times. His arm was bent and pinned to his chest as if by an invisible cast.

As disoriented and sickly as he was, a child-like, frustrated scream left his mouth and he kicked the cheap paneling of the cabinets. The wood splintered and caved in, revealing the stained white pipes connected to the sink.

Breathing heavily, Gavin forced himself back and began a search for clean clothes.

All he could find was some college sweatshirt with a bleach stain on the chest and a not entirely clean pair of pants, and he immediately dreaded walking outside into the seventy-something degree weather.

As he searched, slowly, around the apartment he found that his key was also gone, snatched from the coffee table. He left the door unlocked because nothing remained in the apartment that he cared much about, anyway. 

He pushed through his headache and strode up to the elevator and pressed the button. It made a struggling, whirring noise and dinged, but nothing happened. He swore as he remembered that it was broken. As long as it had been, he would have thought he would stop attempting. The stairwell door was ajar and he muttered obscenities as he began his descent. With every step, it sent an almost jarring pain to both his head and his shoulder, and when he felt nauseous again he sat down and waited for it to pass. 

It took ten minutes to walk down three flights of stairs, and the first thing he did when he reached the lobby was slide down onto the ground, feeling light-headed and a little bit like he got kicked in the stomach. Whatever he did the previous night, it wasn’t good. The feeling was familiar, but he hoped to God he didn't stoop down that low again.

He recovered and pushed past the glass doors and into the loud, bright, smelly outside world. It blind-sided him for a moment but he stumbled forward until he reached the main road. It took four minutes to hail a taxi, and when Gavin slipped into the back seat a man with a neck beard and small eyes peered at him with something like contempt. 

“Where ya headed, kid?”

Gavin opened his mouth and his words came out as if from a blender, chopped up and raspy: “Sixty-seven Dunston Avenue.”

The man tapped it into his navigation with a fat finger and the car rolled forward. Gavin made it his mission not to throw up on the ratty interior and get thrown out of the cab. He must have looked as green as he felt because the man offered a, “Puke out the window if you’re gonna.”

Gavin didn’t reply, but clenched his fists in his lap.

It was a dizzy, agonizing first five minutes, but he became accustomed to the jerking and swerving of the car as they ducked around traffic and turned sharp corners that Gavin swore they didn’t need to take.

The traffic began to disappear, and soon they were among the only two cars driving down the bumpy, uneven road. Gray and brown plants grew in clumps between cracks and off to the sides, and the tall buildings on either side leaned in close towards the one-way road. The second car, a shiny black convertible, trailed behind them.

The driver didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he just didn’t care.

They drove down the long road at a speed a little faster than a crawl, so slow that Gavin could count the cracks on the sidewalk.

“Could you speed this up a bit?” Gavin asked, and the driver made an exaggerated huffing noise.

They picked up a little and the car behind them followed. It remained a strange distance behind them; far enough that another car could potentially fit between the bumpers. The windows were tinted and Gavin couldn’t make out a driver at all.

They approached a crossroads and to their left was Dunston Avenue. People meandered about but Gavin felt no safer than if he was alone.

“Let me off here.”

“What?”

“Let me off here.”

The driver looked at the meter and sighed an annoyed, “Twenty sixty-six.”

Gavin remembered the distinct lack of anything in his possession, including his wallet. 

He made a few noises, but settled upon the ever-eloquent, “Shit.”

The driver had a hand held out, but was reading something on his phone. It was easy, really, to slip from the car and start running. What wasn’t easy was being able to keep running, because after a few seconds his head began to spin and the muscles in his legs tightened and he ran straight into a wall.

The jarring force caused him to shout and fall back onto the concrete, but he began to scramble, sightless, in fear of the cab driver and whoever was inside the car behind them. He felt the ground and the world came back in shades of gray and he crawled forward and heard people shouting.

He found a smooth metal surface and felt it as his vision returned to normal, but not before he threw up again. The amount of times he had gotten sick that morning left him tired and his body protested, but he forced it to its legs and he turned to see more than a few people looking at him and at the car parked in the emergency lane in front of the square he just stumbled through. The cab driver was gone.

A water fountain that wasn’t on sat in the center of the square and people milled around, walking in and out of small shops and restaurants, but now they were all stopped and looking. Some were recording, some were grasping their loved ones as if Gavin would run at them like a monster.

He watched and a man he couldn’t recognize stepped out of the driver's seat of the black car. He wore a suit and eyeglasses, and his build was sturdy. He didn’t move away from the car or even close the door again, he simply watched Gavin with one arm resting on the top of the car. He was watching unlike the other onlookers, he didn’t look confused or shocked or scared, he looked as if he was evaluating.

Gavin took a wobbly step forward and the mass of people moved accordingly; they scrambled out of the way or walked in the other direction. He felt strange, as he mostly tried to keep to himself. 

When he got close enough, he could see the suited man’s cropped, curly brown hair and lack of a tie. Before he could do anything, the man quickly returned back to his car and backed out of his parking spot and cruised down the road. Gavin was left, looking like he belonged in an asylum, on the sidewalk. 

A police siren punched him in the face and he saw the car roll up into the spot the black one just left. Gavin backed up, and a woman and her partner came from the cruiser and approached him. 

He didn’t let them speak, he turned and began walking away, albeit faster than he would have normally walked. He made sure to duck and dash between people when he heard calls of, “Sir? Sir!”

When he made it away from the square, he noticed the officers returned to their vehicle and were now driving down the road towards him. He ducked into a shallow alley and hoped he couldn't be spotted in the late morning light.

The red and blue lights passed by slowly as they cruised along the road. They weren’t looking too hard, Gavin knew they had better things to do than follow a public disturbance in some deadbeat part of the city. When they passed, Gavin crept out from his cover and reevaluated his environment. The people who were previously watching were now scattered and in front of him was a road sign that read Dunston Avenue.

He walked along the sidewalk, a throbbing pain in his temples, reading the golden numbers on the rough looking doors of the rough looking houses. They were all almost identical, save the degree of stain on the exterior paint and the color of the doors. 

When he arrived on the doorstep of number sixty-seven, a duplex, the paint on the door was cracked and the one to its left was boarded up and the windows were shattered.

He knocked on the door, shifting back and forth on his feet, and felt beads of sweat drip down his neck. The fabric of his sweatshirt was sticking to his chest.

Footsteps approached and the door swung open, revealing Jeremy Dooley, looking almost as bad as Gavin felt. He wore a tank top and his chest hair rose from the neckline.

“Oh, hey Gavin.” He looked surprised, but pushed the door open further.

Gavin walked past him and Jeremy closed the door. The only light came from down the hall, so it was very dark and Gavin wanted to throw up when the stifling heat enveloped him.

“What’s up?” Jeremy asked, and Gavin could see him lean against the wall.

“Did you see me last night?”

Jeremy paused. “For a while, but you went off with some guys and I stayed at the club. Why?”

Gavin didn’t reply, but rather pressed his back against the wall, trying to ease his nausea. Jeremy was one of his only friends in Achievement City, even if they didn’t see each other much. He was the only one Gavin could think might have any idea what he did the night before.

“You don’t look too good, do you need some water or something?” Jeremy asked and put a steadying hand on Gavin’s arm. He moved away from the touch but Jeremy was already crowding him into the next room, lit only by the square window above the stove. The light that entered was gray and gave Gavin a headache but he sat down in the chair that was offered anyway. Jeremy took a plastic tumbler from the cabinet and filled it with tap water before pushing it into Gavin’s hand.

“My house is completely empty and I can’t remember anything of last night.” He said, and took a swig of the lukewarm water.

“You were robbed?”

Gavin nodded and Jeremy leaned against the wall leading to another room.

“The guys you went off with… do you think it might have been them?” Jeremy asked.

“I don’t  _ know _ , the only thing I can remember is—” He stopped.  _ Ramsey. _

He recalled leaving the warehouse and trying to hail a taxi, but failing. Not many were in that area anyway, nevermind that late. So, he walked until he reached a moderately busy part of the city, and….

“Where was the club we went to?” Gavin asked.

“Oh, uh, near Port Chutney, I can’t remember much either.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry man, wish I could help.”

Gavin waved the apology off and took another sip of water. It cooled his throat and settled his stomach, but the uneasy frustration remained. It hadn’t really hit him yet, that everything important he owned was gone. His wallet, his phone. All the money he had, he couldn’t trust banks. Rent was due in three days, and he remembered he had work that day. He was supposed to be at his desk three hours ago, according to the stovetop clock.

He set the water down and tried to stand up, but the arm he used to push himself up from the chair gave out under his weight. He felt like a serrated knife had been thrust into his shoulder and he couldn’t catch his breath. Jeremy hovered, unsure as to what was happening, but unable to say anything.

Gavin mustered a weak and unconvincing, “I’m fine.” before trying again. He managed to get up but the world writhed around for a moment and his vision darkened.

“Woah, woah. Take it easy, buddy.” Jeremy warned, and took Gavin’s elbow. He was lowered into the chair again.

“I need to… get back. Talk to my boss.”

“I could drive you back to your place, if you want.”

Gavin felt sick again and shook his head.

“Well, you can’t walk.”

Gavin tried to roll his shoulder back and more pain shot up his arm, but not as bad. He remembered the doctor telling him not to strain himself and nearly laughed.

“Whoever robbed me took my damn phone anyway, I’ll have to go see him in person.”

“I could take you.”

Gavin mustered a smile and shook his head.

“That’s alright, I’m sure I could get a taxi—” He paused, and remembered the fiasco with the last one, and his distinct lack of money.

Jeremy gathered something from his expression, whatever it was, and set his jaw.

“Alright, get up. I’ll take you.”

Gavin was pulled up by his other arm and steadied, then nudged towards the door before he could say anything. He was always very kind. 

Jeremy took a jacket off a hook nailed into the wall next to the front door and Gavin stepped outside. It was cooler than the warm, dark interior of Jeremy’s place but he was still sweating buckets and his head pounded.

A beat up, faded car sat beside the sidewalk and Jeremy unlocked it, slid in, and pushed the passenger door open.

“Get in, where are we headed?”

Gavin reluctantly sat down, and felt the hard interior of the seat under him. The seat belt was missing.

“It’s a little far away, I don’t know if he’ll even be there.”

Jeremy shrugged and his window rolled down with a dry, grating noise that left marks on the glass, no doubt.

“It’s near the south edge of the city.” Gavin sighed.

Jeremy nodded his head and started the car with a sound like an old cat purring, it was rough and came in bursts of noise that made the car jump; but it started. They rolled out into the street and almost as soon as the car began to pick up speed, a small shape darted in front of the car. Jeremy, with a swear, slammed on the brakes. Gavin, unrestrained, lurched forward and knocked his head on the dash.

“Oh my God, what the hell was that?” Jeremy shouted, stepping out of the car and inspecting the front wheels. Gavin rubbed his forehead and groaned. The day kept getting worse and worse.

“What is it?” He asked, and Jeremy got back into the car with a grim expression on his face.

“A fucking cat jumped in front of the car.” He put the car into gear again and they rolled forward.

Gavin turned to look out of the back window and saw a little black shape in the middle of the road.

“Wait, stop.” Gavin said, and Jeremy pulled over in front of a decrepit old house.

“It’s dead.” Jeremy explained as Gavin pushed the door open and slowly got out. He walked back a few yards until he stood over the cat. Its tail moved around weakly.

Gavin saw another car approaching and knew that whoever was in that car wouldn’t think twice about running over some black smudge on the road. He took the cat in his hands and felt it wriggle weakly, but took it anyway and moved to the curb. The car cruised by, and Gavin didn’t know what to do now. He was stuck holding a dying, possibly feral cat on the side of the road.

Jeremy finally emerged from the car and sighed when he saw Gavin standing there.

“Might as well leave it, it won’t make it very long.”

Gavin looked down at the cat, and felt its short breaths against his hand. He knew it wouldn’t survive, but he didn’t want to leave it on the side of the road. It felt wrong.

“Can we find a spot to put it?”

Jeremy wrinkled his nose but nodded. They returned to the car, and Gavin sat with the dying cat in his lap. It was morbid, really — he should have just left it there. But it opened its eyes for a moment and Gavin swore it looked at him, before closing them again. It didn’t move again, and he knew it died when it gave one last heave and stilled.

“It's dead.” He said.

Jeremy didn’t say anything, but after ten minutes, he pulled over on a bridge that traffic missed. He, Gavin, and the cat stepped out of the car.

“Sorry, I just didn’t want to leave it.” Gavin explained, and Jeremy said it was alright. He felt stupid, still.

He had to look away when he dropped the cat off the side of the bridge into the muddy-looking water below. It felt very cinematic, but Gavin just felt sad and vaguely awkward.

He and Jeremy got back into the car and Gavin wiped his hands over and over again on the sides of the seat, but he felt death like gloves on his hands. Then, he wondered why touching a dying animal felt worse than killing a human with those same hands.


	4. Four

As the drive wore on, Gavin learned that Jeremy had a nice singing voice, and that Achievement City had more back roads than he thought. When traffic began to build up, as it often did, Jeremy would take a left or a right down some residential street, then another, and more until they were driving down an unmarked one-way behind a bustling deli shop; then they would appear again, ahead of the traffic. It was like a practiced dance, one that made Gavin slightly sick with all the turns and dips.

They had only been driving for an hour when Gavin began to get restless. His feet were twitching, he kept changing the radio station, and he couldn’t stop looking around, even though it was making him feel sicker. Jeremy asked where the place was that they were heading towards.

“Oh, it’s down…” Gavin trailed off, he just came to the realization that he was exposing the location of Adam’s safehouse. Even though it was Jeremy, and he was friendly enough, he couldn’t risk it. “Uh, sorry. Giovanni lane, shouldn’t be much further.”

Jeremy nodded his head, and continued to sing quietly. Gavin felt sick again, but not from the car or whatever it was making him sick all day; it was nervousness. He didn’t call ahead, or really have a significant reason to be running to Adam. Sure, all his possessions were gone and he wouldn’t be making rent, but he could still fight. That was all Adam cared about.

It was too late to ask Jeremy to turn back now. They approached Giovanni Lane and Gavin knew he would have to get out and get into a house, then walk a couple streets down to the safehouse when Jeremy left.

“House number?”

“One thirty-three.”

Jeremy slowed the car and the brakes squealed, the car hiccuped, then stopped. Gavin grabbed the door handle.

“Thank you for the ride, you didn’t have to do that.”

“No problem, do you need a ride back as well? It doesn’t look like anyone is here.”

Gavin peered over the dashboard and there was no car in the driveway, or the open garage.

He felt hot for a moment, but swaddled the fear and slight embarrassment in a smile. “I can manage from here, thank you again.”

Jeremy nodded slowly, but unlocked the car by reaching over Gavin’s lap and pushing the door open. Gavin ducked his head in acknowledgement and unfolded himself from the cramped cab. He took a few awkward steps away from the car and paused, hoping to God that the door was unlocked. His stuttered movements aggravated his shoulder and he gritted his teeth before walking up to the surprisingly pristine, freshly-painted door. The shiny maroon color stared back at him as he jiggled the doorknob to find it —  _ shockingly _ — locked. A thin window to the left of the door gave him a glimpse of the yard behind him and Jeremy was still there, idling. It was a nice gesture, sure, to wait until Gavin was safely inside, but Gavin didn’t need nice. He needed a ride, and that was it.

His face warmed up and he tried not to look too lost before stooping down to lift up the corner of the prickly welcome mat. It was trodden on and the words that were printed there were unintelligible.

The key was tucked not-so-safely under the mat, and Gavin picked it up.  _ Those dumb pricks _ , he thought gleefully.

He unlocked the door with a beautiful click, then turned to wave Jeremy goodbye. He walked into the house and closed the door quietly. Out the window, Gavin watched Jeremy pull away.

He turned around and waited a moment before leaving, his back felt the doorknob.

In that moment, he heard a noise from the room adjacent to the one he stood in. He tensed and his breath hitched in his throat. The key slipped from his fingers when he fumbled with it and he bent down to grab it.

Shuffling footsteps filled the air around Gavin’s ears and he glanced up through his eyelashes to see two small feet in the doorway to his left. He picked the key up and stood.

A small boy was grasping the wood of the doorway, eyes large and mouth open. Gavin didn’t know what to do, so he just said, “Wrong house.”

The kid backed up into the dark of the other room and Gavin opened the door as quickly as he could before slipping out. He paused when he was standing on the porch, and locked the door. If someone else wanted to rob the place, there was no guarantee that they would spare the kid. He returned the key to its spot and began walking.

He passed yards of dead grass with knocked-over mailboxes and rotting fences, and yards with pristine gardens and signs sticking from the ground with warning-red letters:  **BEWARE OF DOG** . The houses were big and small, new and old, abandoned and lived in. The neighborhood was an embodiment of Achievement City; there were people who made it big and were involved with the right people, and those who were just trying to get by. He made it to the safehouse, it was unassuming and painted a pale yellow, with a small, unkempt yard and locks on the gate. Gavin easily hopped over the gate and approached the door. It was so hot, his clothes were damp with sweat and he probably looked like a wreck. He considered turning back and finding his way home somehow, but knocked on the door anyway. He bit the inside of his cheek nervously, glancing around. No one answered.

He knocked again, and noticed how badly he smelled, but knew he couldn’t really do anything about that now. 

After several minutes, still no one came to the door. Gavin’s chest felt heavy and he felt like he might vomit, and he did. He threw up to the side of the door, right on the concrete. It was mostly water but it burned his throat and his teeth ached. He wiped his mouth as he stumbled away from the door, pulling the damp fabric of his sweatshirt away from his chest in a futile attempt to cool off.

Weak-kneed, in pain, and disoriented; he sat down on the curb in a patch of dirt surrounding a fire hydrant.

Adam would have probably kicked him out anyway, Gavin had nothing really to say. It was an issue he might have gone to a friend for but he didn’t have any. He thought of it suddenly, he had no one to turn to. Jeremy was too much of an unknown, Gavin had no idea what his job was or who he worked for.

A woman walked along the sidewalk and when she approached him, made a face and crossed to the other side of the street. He didn’t blame her, he probably looked like a drug-addled nobody. He was sweating buckets and felt worse just sitting there, so he stood up and through the pain in his entire body, walked until he found a bus stop. He had no idea when it would come but an older man sat on the bench, obviously waiting as well, so it couldn’t be that long. He had no money for the fare but hopefully the driver would take pity on him. If not, his last hope would be to hitchhike.

He stood, leant against a lamp post, and watched the old man try not to be obvious in his staring.

Gavin tried to think of what the fuck happened that could have left him in this kind of shape and lead to his apartment getting ransacked. Even his meeting with Ramsey was a muddled memory, he remembered leaving then he obviously went to a club. He couldn’t for the life of him think why he would have gone to a club, he knew he had work, no money, and decisions to make.

After, thankfully, only 10 or so minutes, the dirty blue bus pulled up and opened its doors with a shriek. The old man boarded first, and Gavin was about to explain his situation before the driver, a young man, cut him off. “Yeah, yeah. He paid for you, just sit down.” The doors closed and the bus lurched forward. Gavin stumbled as he sat in the first free seat.

He glanced behind him and the old man was pointedly not looking in his direction, he stared out the window. He was relieved as they drove and cool air blew in his hot face. The day had gotten warmer since the rain stopped.

He rode for a while, his eyes closed, just enjoying being in a fairly safe, air-conditioned area to rest his weary body. When he opened his eyes and took in the scenery around him, he noticed with horror that he was further from downtown Achievement City then he was before. Hot dread filled his chest and he moved to pull the cord to suggest a stop. White pain shot through his shoulder and he yelped. The driver didn’t notice or care.

The woman sitting behind him stood and reached over him to pull his cord, and before he could thank her she strode toward the door and held onto the pole. It was her cord to pull as well.

He hobbled out behind her, onto the dusty ground. He immediately missed the air conditioning and comfortable seats. The woman walked briskly away, towards nothing. As he looked around, there really was nothing. A strip mall to his right, then sandy flatlands into the distance, only interrupted by a few clusters of buildings every once in a while. A bus stop in the middle of nowhere.

Gavin could see the city far away through the haze of heat, and he could have cried. He was overwhelmed and in pain and so confused, everything went to shit so fast. Only four days ago he was fighting and winning against Ramsey’s prized fighter, and now he was injured, lost, and broke.

He felt his pocket slowly, even though he knew his phone was stolen. He knew the woman walking away from him was his only hope at the moment, and called out to her.

“Miss? Uh, excuse me?” His voice sounded shrill even in his own ears, but she did stop and turn around. He started walking towards her and she dipped her hand into her purse.

“Sorry, I was just wondering if you know when the next bus to the city comes around?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. The sound of the bus grinding sand under its wheels disappeared into the distance, and as soon as it was far enough away, she rounded on him.

“Who are you, why are you out here?” She snarled in his face, and it looked strange. She had very soft features and pretty blonde hair, but her face pulled back in anger and suspicion. 

“S-sorry, I just—” He couldn’t finish his sentence before she whipped him across the face with something cold and hard that made his vision fail. When he hit the ground sand went up his nose and into his mouth, and his already aching and overheated body couldn’t recover. He didn’t even try to get up. 

A hand fisted his hair and he let out a sandy cough when his neck was bent at an extreme angle.

“Who are you?” She demanded.

“Coal.” He coughed, “Flynt Coal.”

She dropped his head back onto the ground.

“Stay away from me.” She spat, and he heard the crunching of sand under her shoes as she walked away.

He felt blood run down his cheek and an intense stinging, and realized that she had cut him. He opened his eyes and saw only hard, orange earth. He managed to roll over to face the sky and felt the unforgiving sun beat down on him. He supposed he could just lay there and succumb to the weather and his own weakness, maybe someone would find him eventually. Or he would be devoured by animals, or become a skeleton half-sticking out of the ground like in movies.

The blood running sluggishly down his face eventually clotted and dried, but his head and body were still aching. He felt like it would never end; the pain and uncertainty of his own life. Ever since he started fighting and dealing when he was a teenager, he hadn’t known rest. As if he was being punished for taking the wrong side, for not choosing peace and comfort and a regular, steady, low-paying job. He was cursed to work for Adam, who now had an iron grip on his life and what he did.

He sat up in the sand with great effort, clutching at his still-sore rib, and felt the dried, crusty cut on his forehead above his eyebrow. Looking around dizzily, he decided that the best course of action was to go over to the only building in sight, the strip mall that seemed to him completely defunct. He figured there must be something, if that woman was on her way there. 

Standing was difficult, but walking was worse. He was incredibly nauseous, soaked in sweat, and weak on his feet. It took fifteen minutes to walk the relatively short distance, and once he did he noticed that there were six separate slots for shops, but only two were functional. The others were boarded up and graffitied. 

The first one, closest to him, was a hardware store with a rusty, sun-faded sign that read  _ Gary’s Parts _ . The other, three doors down, was unmarked, but the lights were on inside and the windows were clean. There was even a welcome mat under the door, which was strange given the surroundings. He opted to go to the hardware store first, since it was closer.

He neared the entrance and smelled the overpowering stench of oil. He nearly gagged when he opened the door, the smell was acrid and made it difficult to breathe. Inside, the fluorescent lights flickered and the linoleum floor was slippery and wet, it was covered with a rainbow sheen. 

“Hello?” Gavin called out, trying not to gag at the smell. He pulled his sweatshirt up over his nose and tip-toed further into the shop, peeking around the low shelves filled with old wrenches and various metal parts. No one answered his call.

After a couple minutes of searching and finding nothing, he felt like he might pass out from the fumes if he didn’t get out of there. He broke out the door and took in gulps of fresh air, wiping his nose to try to rid it of the smell. 

He stumbled over to the other shop and opened the door. It was spotless on the inside, the lights were bright and white and it smelled like floor cleaner. It was air-conditioned, and the cold air blessed his warm, sticky skin. There was a single desk to the right, and one table in the center of the room with eight chairs around it.

A woman with dyed blue hair sat at the desk, she looked him up and down with suspicion when he entered. 

“Hi, who are you?” She asked hesitantly.

Gavin ran a shaking hand through his dirty hair, and felt the dried blood sticking the strands together. He must have looked like an entire wreck, he was surprised she didn’t immediately ask him to leave.

“I’m sorry, I’m— well, I took the wrong bus, and I—” Before he could get much else out, the door at the back of the room opened and the woman from the bus stepped out, a stack of papers in her manicured hand. She stopped dead in her tracks when she saw him and her blue eyes widened.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” She demanded, but didn’t move.

“You know him?” The other woman asked, pointing at Gavin, unsure.

The blonde finally stepped forward and slammed her stack of papers on the desk. She glared at Gavin and stood with her hip jutting out.

“No. He followed me off the bus. Who the fuck are you? I told you to stay away from me.” She spat, and a hand disappeared into her pocket.

Gavin lifted his hands up. “I’m not following you, I just need to get back to the city.”

“Bullshit, no one comes out here. How did you know how to find us?”

“Barbara, I think he’s just lost.” The blue-haired woman ventured, already flipping through the papers that were deposited on her desk. 

Barbara took another few steps forward until she was face-to-face with Gavin. Her expression was guarded and fierce, she inspected him intently. 

“What happened to your face?” She asked.

Gavin sputtered. “You cut me!”

She rolled her eyes. “The bruises, the limp. What, you get in a fight?”

Gavin shrunk back. “Something like that.”

The door in the back creaked open again, and Gavin peeked around Barbara’s thin shoulder to see a man step out. He had dark hair and a tall, thin build, and was dressed casually. He cocked his head when he noticed the commotion.

“What’s going on, Barb?”

She didn’t turn around. “Just telling this guy to leave.”

The man joined her side and looked at Gavin inquisitively. His brown eyes were warmer, less immediately suspicious.

“You look like shit, man.” He said, then tilted his head. “You look familiar.”

Barbara turned to him, then. “Does he?”

The man nodded slowly. “What’s your name again?”

Gavin backed up slowly, feeling the suddenly alert stares of the three of them. He didn’t know what kind of business he walked into, but he wasn’t about to get interrogated by strangers.

“Actually, you know, I think I can—”

There was a small beeping noise, and Gavin jumped when thick sheets of metal dropped behind him from the ceiling, blocking the windows and door. He turned and faced the gray expanse, and cold fear washed over him. He realized then that he was in the wrong place, these people were not going to let him leave that easily.

When he turned back around, slowly, Barbara had her arms crossed and a smirk on her face. 

“Yeah, I thought so. Who are you?”

“Hey, I don’t know what you lot think you’re doing, but I’m not— I’m… I just need to get back to the city.” He wavered, feeling dizzy again. He couldn’t remember the last time he ate, and his body ached everywhere. He sniffled, his nose was running.

“Barbara, back up a little.” The man said quietly, pulling Barbara’s arm when she started towards Gavin. She ripped her arm from his grip and gave him an exasperated look.

“He’s obviously from another gang, someone probably sent him here.” She glared at Gavin and turned her back to him, speaking quietly to the man. He couldn’t make out what she said, but the room felt like it was getting brighter with every second. He knew he was fucked, everything was crashing down on him so quickly.

“—and besides we can’t just let him go now, he’s seen—what’s wrong with you?” Barbara’s voice cut through his panic, they were looking at him again. He was breathing quickly, with every intake of air his ribs felt like they were constricting.

“Nothing… I.” He gulped and took the deepest breath he could. He had to try to get out of this, get out of his head and regain some control over the situation. “My name is Flynt Coal. I just got on the wrong bus.”

“Flynt… Coal.” The woman at the desk said quietly, and started typing furiously. The  _ click clack _ of her nails on the keyboard made his head hurt.

“Well  _ Flynt Coal _ , there’s not another bus out of here until tomorrow.” Barbara said, her arms crossed. He could see the light reflecting off her gold jewelry, it was blinding. He blinked once. Twice.

“Tomorrow.”

She nodded smugly. “Yeah, so you have plenty of time to tell us who you actually are.”

“There’s no Flynt Coal living in Achievement City.” The woman at the desk said, and he wanted to smash her computer and flip that fancy desk over.

“I’m visiting.” He said weakly, but it was over. These people were so suspicious, everyone in their line of work was. He couldn’t blame them, but he was scared out of his wits. He may be a fighter, but when he was put in a situation outside the mat, he froze up. It was why Adam never trusted him with anything important, why he was only there to bring in money.

“Barbara.” The man’s eyes flashed with recognition, Gavin’s knees felt weak.

“Lindsay, could you call—”

“Barb.” He grabbed her wrist. She stopped and cocked her head at him, eyes wide.

“He’s one of Adam’s.” 

At that, The room started to swim and Gavin was unconscious before he hit the ground.


End file.
